


Leave Me Breathless

by alreynolds13



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Breathplay, Choking, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humiliation, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, Minor Character Death, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Violence, fear kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 14:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alreynolds13/pseuds/alreynolds13
Summary: After a fight to the death, Negan decides to take out his leftover adrenaline on an innocent bystander…and that innocent bystander is you. (Contains spoilers for episode 8x15)





	Leave Me Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> I could NOT get this idea out of my head, after watching the Negan x Simon fight in episode 8x15. It took a bit of a dark and dirty turn, so please please PLEASE heed the warnings, as this contains some dubious consent and various kinks. 
> 
> That being said, I hope y'all enjoy ;)

You watched in silent horror, along with the rest of the Sanctuary, as two men tussled in the middle of the large room. They hit into each other with a low thud, like two battering rams colliding. You gave a low gasp when the taller man decked your leader in the face, sending him spinning. He was only deterred for a moment, as he straightened himself and hauled off a punch of his own, fist connecting with his opponent’s chin with a loud crack. 

The two of them were growling and yelling like deranged beasts, a loud juxtaposition to the silent and still onlookers. You were in the front row, getting an up close and personal view of the testosterone-filled battle. You knew that this couldn’t end well...that only one of them would walk away as champion...only one would walk away _alive_. And yet, just like when one sees a car pile-up or a house on fire, you were unable to look away. You all stood silently and watched with bated breath, no one willing to make a noise or sudden movement that might draw the attention of the two men.

The large Savior, Simon, was thick and muscled, and had started out with the upper hand when he threw the first punch without warning. However, Negan was lean and quick, and he had pure rage on his side. His eyes almost glowed with the fire of vengeance, as the desire to punish Simon for his insurrection pulsed through his body and fueled his brutal movements. When he threw Simon to the cement floor and climbed astride him, hands at his throat, you lifted your own hand to cover your mouth, eyes wide as saucers as you watched his fingers tighten on the larger man’s windpipe. Spittle flew from his mouth, as Negan furiously accused Simon of being disloyal, his hands never wavering from the other man’s throat. You weren’t fully able to register what he was saying, your head full of a loud buzzing noise, as disbelief and morbid fascination caused goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. 

You had never thought about what death would sound like. Sure, you’d seen plenty of walkers, even seen plenty of dead bodies...mangled bodies...bloated and deformed bodies. But you’d never actually seen the life leave someone, never considered that it would have a sound. 

That sound was the crunch of a windpipe collapsing, followed by the sigh of a final breath being squeezed between now-still lips. It was the sneer of victory, of heavy boots thumping against concrete as the victor regained his feet, a muttered growl of “asshole” leaving his lips and echoing around the large space. 

Coolness trickled down your cheek, and you realized that it was from the trail of a tear. That you were still standing there in shock, along with the others, waiting for orders. How did one react, after a display such as that? Did you applaud? Drop to your knees? Silently pray you weren’t next?

As if he could hear the whir of thoughts racing through your head, hazel eyes lifted and locked onto yours from a distance of mere feet. They took in your hand-covered mouth, the shock and the fear, and maybe even a touch of awe, that coated your face. They trailed down and took in your form, encased in snug jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers that had seen more than their fair share of miles. Something flickered in that gaze, as if a decision had been made, and he stepped in your direction. 

You felt a rush of air, as those on your left and right scooted over, as whoever was behind you backed up. The hunter had sighted his prey, and the others parted like the Red Sea, willing to sacrifice you if it meant that they were safe from his grasp. 

Calloused fingers wrapped around the wrist at your face, warm and unresisting. He started for the exit, practically dragging you behind him, feet fumbling as you tried to figure out how to walk with legs that had been reduced to the consistency of Jell-O. You glanced around at the mass of faces watching blankly, some with eyes trained on the floor, not one of them willing to raise a muscle or even shift in your direction. You walked past Arat, who was standing next to the doorway leading out of the vast room. Her eyes connected with yours for an extended moment, and she gave an imperceptible nod. Whether or not it was meant to be a reassurance or a warning, you had no clue. 

Head dizzy with fear and uncertainty, you struggled to keep up with Negan’s fast pace, as he pulled you down the nearest hallway. He hesitated at the first open door on the right, before seeming to make up his mind that this space would do. He jerked you in front of him and through the doorway, pushing you into the middle of the room, which was dark and smelled faintly of bleach. 

A soft click followed by overhead brightness signaled that he had found the light switch. Squinting until your eyes adjusted, you realized that you were in a single stall bathroom. 

Alone. 

With Negan.

And he had just closed and locked the door. 

Backing up a step towards the sink, dry lips struggled to form words, to say something, anything, _oh god why did he bring you here?!_

Your dazed brain focused on random little details, such as the fresh blood that trailed into his eyebrow from a cut on his forehead. The dark bruises beginning to form on both cheeks, where he had been hit. The masculine hair sprinkled along the back of his left hand, juxtaposed with the smooth leather covering his right. Hands that had, mere minutes ago, crushed the life out of another man. An involuntary shudder ran up your spine at the thought, and he saw it, eyes lasered in on you, not missing a single detail of your reaction to him. 

His top lip curled up into a snarl, a morbid attempt at his usual arrogant smirk. Rather than appearing charming, he just looked deadly, like a wild animal. He started across the small space, stalking towards you so that you backed up further into the corner, until you hit cold porcelain and had nowhere else to go. The sink jutted into your lower back, as he stopped directly in front of you, his presence automatically causing you to lean away from him until your back was contorted into a C-shape. 

He still didn’t say a word, but his breathing was heavy, jaw clenched, and you were fairly confident that, in this moment, he was more than a bit unhinged. You weren’t sure if he wanted to fuck you or kill you, and the possibilities flaring in his demon-bright eyes made you tremble like a caught hare in front of a hungry wolf. 

A wolf that had just committed cold-blooded murder, fangs still dripping with the fresh blood, and was now trying to decide if you would be his next victim. 

You were terrified, fear like a cold bullet down your spine. However, deep in the pit of your stomach, there was also a little spark of recognition that flared to life. Whether it was a survival instinct, telling you to submit in order to avoid further harm, or whether it was true desire that had been festering in his direction for longer than you cared to admit, you weren’t sure. Hell, maybe it was both. 

All you knew was that, when he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck and jerked you up against him, your body went slack and willing. Lips collided hard enough to bruise, as he used his height and strength and masculinity to showcase his dominance over you. 

When his tongue thrust past your open lips, you tasted the faint tinge of blood, sharp and metallic, and weren’t sure if it was his or yours. His body crowded into you, hips pressing your back painfully into the sink, chest looming above yours, causing you to be so off balance that the only logical option was to cling to his shoulders. Or, at least, you’d later tell yourself it had been the only option...not that you had just wanted to. 

You gasped in aroused surprise when he jerked your shirt up to your armpits, then ripped the cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to the cool air and his hot gaze. He gave a dark chuckle at the sight of your already-hardened nipples, before bending his head and taking one roughly between his teeth. You cried out at the sharp pleasure-pain sensation, completely overwhelmed by the realization that he fully planned to fuck you in this bathroom, and that there was nothing you could do to stop it.

That you didn’t _want_ to stop it. 

Warm flesh and cool leather at your stomach indicated that he was undoing your jeans, practically ripping the zipper in his haste to get the offending garment off. He pulled back a scant distance, in order to drag the denim down over your hips and thighs. He got one leg free, and abandoned the task, leaving the jeans to hang off your left calf and foot. You were about to try and kick them off yourself, but the pants were quickly forgotten when a sharp _snick_ echoed in the tiled room. 

Hair stood up all over your body at the flash of a switchblade in Negan’s hand, and your vision became black and fuzzy at the edges when he brought it down towards your thighs.

“Don’t move a fucking muscle,” he ordered, voice raspy with sex and authority. 

Holding a trembling breath, you had a moment where you thought this was it, that he had changed his mind, the scales tipping in favor of death over fucking. Eyes transfixed by the sharp metal, you watched as he used his gloved hand to pull one of your legs up and out, exposing your cunt. He slid the flat of the blade across your inner thigh, before delicately moving the tip underneath the crotch of your panties and pulling them out from your body, causing the elastic to strain. 

With one quick, deft movement, the knife cut through the fabric, smooth as butter. Fear morphed back into arousal, and you gave a low, desperate groan, wetness flooding your pussy from the heady rush of adrenaline. He then lifted the knife and did the same to the front of your bra, slicing through the fabric and leaving your body bare except for the t-shirt still bunched up under your chin and the jeans hooked over your foot. Disappointment filled your chest when he closed the knife and put it back in his pocket, followed by a low burn of shame that you had hoped he’d continue to tease you with it. That he’d run it back down your leg, digging in _just_ enough to leave a thin red line, and mark you as his.

You were shocked by your own thoughts, and especially that they were directed at a man who, frankly, you had tried to keep your distance from, up until this point. Sure, Negan was hot as hell, and had a commanding presence that drew women like moths to a flame, but he was also incredibly intimidating, with his violent dramatics and gaze that seemed to cut through all pretense and strip you down to the core. It had been so much easier to avoid him when necessary and keep to yourself and your duties. 

Well, all those months of staying out of sight had been in vain, because here you were, getting a front and center demonstration of the formidable authority that was Negan. 

The hand at your leg vanished, to be replaced at your waist, as he abruptly lifted you onto the sink and stepped between your thighs. Fear that it wouldn’t hold your weight was quickly forgotten by a leathered hand cupping your pussy. He gave a satisfied smile when your lips fell open with a needy moan, as he pushed two gloved fingers inside your wet heat. 

“That’s it, show daddy how much you want him to fuck you. Does the sight of blood and death turn you on, little girl?” 

You wanted to deny his claim, say that you weren’t like that, weren’t aroused by such morbid things...but the truth was staring you right in the face that maybe, just maybe, you actually _were_. Words were impossible, anyways, especially when he dropped the hand not in your cunt and started unbuckling his own pants. You should put an end to this, should ask him to stop and let you go back to your room, where things were safe. Instead, you gave a sharp cry of pleasure when he twisted his fingers inside of you at the same moment that he pulled his heavy, weeping cock out of his pants. 

Your thighs instinctively spread apart on the sink without your brain’s consent. You were mortified at how your traitorous body was reacting to his like a bitch in heat, but the prospect of having that thick cock inside of you, after so many months of feeling empty, was too tempting to resist. 

His fingers slid out of your cunt, making you whine in despair, the leather soaked and glistening with your desire. He trailed them up your stomach, leaving behind a line of shiny wetness, before lifting the digits up to your mouth with a command of, “Open.” 

Lips parting without hesitation, he pushed the same two fingers deep inside your mouth, grabbing the sides of your cheeks with his thumb and pinky, holding your head immobile. The abrupt intrusion caused you to gag slightly, but you swore that the reaction made his eyes flash with sadistic pleasure, and he didn’t loosen his hold. The tang of leather mixed with the sweet, musky taste of your own juices flooded your tongue, and you moaned around the makeshift finger gag. The parallel to when your own hand had been covering your mouth earlier was not lost on you, and the reminder of the fight raised your desire another notch. 

Eyes connected hotly to your own, he watched as your eyes widened and you twitched on the sink, at the feel of his hot cock nudging between your folds. Without further hesitation, he plunged inside of you with a quick, hard thrust that made you give a muffled scream around his fingers. Your pussy struggled to accommodate him, the sharp burn of your walls stretching around him signaling your body’s surrender. 

His ungloved hand was at your hip, fingers digging into your flesh with a steel grip that matched the one he had on your face. In fact, the press of his digits was so rough that you were certain there would later be bruises on your cheeks that echoed the ones on his own face. 

Pulling his hips back, he drove in deep, giving you no choice but to cling to the edges of the sink underneath you and let him do with your body as he wished. Nostrils flaring, he set up a brutal, fast pace, and the burning discomfort between your thighs soon morphed into a conflagration of pleasure. Whines and moans filtered out from your finger-stuffed mouth, as drool dribbled down your chin and onto your bunched-up shirt. 

His body pressed down into yours, the sink groaning in protest at your combined weight. The jeans must’ve fallen off your foot at some point, because it was bare when you lifted it to wrap around his still-clothed body. The hot, thick drag of his cock against your sensitive inner walls had you arching up into him helplessly. Every nerve ending in your body was focused on the sensations happening between your legs and the building pressure that signaled your orgasm was on the horizon. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled in your ear, his panting breaths hot on the side of your throat. “Is this what you were fucking hoping for, when you watched me strangle that asshole?”

You dimly realized that the expression on your face earlier, when the two men had been fighting, must’ve given away dark desires that you hadn’t even been aware you possessed. Somehow, Negan had taken one look at you and known your secret kinks, known that your panties had been uncomfortably wet while watching him beat and kill his traitorous second-in-command. He had seen his own bloodthirsty arousal reflected back at him in your gaze, and had decided to take advantage, without giving you a chance to think it through or say no.

Before you could fully process this sexual self-awakening, the hand at your hip moved upwards over the front of your body. Long, warm fingers trailed up your chest, tweaking your nipples harshly before spreading out over your collarbone and wrapping lightly around the front of your throat. His hands at your mouth and throat pushed you backwards, until your head was pressed up against the cool surface of the mirror hanging over the sink.

Your eyes widened with slight panic when the fingers tightened, pressing in on the sides of your neck in just the right way to cut off your flow of oxygen. Your hands flew up from the sink, wrapping around his wrist and forearm in a silent plea for air, which he denied. 

“What’s the matter, doll? Since you fucking enjoyed watching earlier, I figured I’d give you a little fucking taste of what you missed out on.”

Shame flooded your body when his words caused your pussy to clench around his cock. Giving a deep groan at your reaction, he growled, “Jesus fuck, squeeze my dick like that again.” 

He then loosened the fingers at your throat, causing you to suck in air as best you could through your nose, since his fingers were still jammed in your mouth. You barely got two breaths in before he cut off your air again, and got what he wanted in the form of your cunt tightening spasmodically around him. 

Glancing down the front of your body, you watched, dazed and a little panicked, at the sight of his thick cock slamming into your cunt. Every time he pulled back, you could see the thick, white arousal from your pussy coating his dick, proof that you were enjoying his special brand of humiliation. You started to time your breaths to his thrusts, counting as he cut off your air for _one two three four five six seven eight_ thrusts before letting you breathe for _one two three four_ thrusts, then starting the cycle all over again. 

You clawed at his wrist with sharp nails, but weren’t sure if it was because you wanted him to stop or were wordlessly begging for him to keep going. You looked up at his face, his jaw clenched tight and sweat dripping down his temples. The thought hit that this was the last thing Simon had seen, that the same hands wrapped around your throat and in your mouth had taken the life of a man not even half an hour earlier. That they were capable of doing the same thing to you, if he so wished. Rather than smack you back to reality, the thought caused a hot spark of fear that only served to further fuel your body’s frenzied arousal. 

You weren’t supposed to like this. You should be horrified at the situation, struggling to free your throat from his grasp or biting down on his fingers to make him let go. You shouldn't be thriving off his brutal thrusts and humiliating dominance, shouldn’t be arching up into him, desperately pleading with him for more. You shouldn’t, but you were; begging in muffled, garbled whimpers for him to go _harder. Faster. Harder. Faster harder deeper, oh please, yes, right there!_

You thrived off the pain and degradation, as he plunged inside you so harshly that it caused a sharp ache with each deep thrust. And it was when he cut off your air again, with a whispered command of, “Come on my fucking dick. Right. Fucking. Now.,” that your body finally hit the precipice and flew over the edge. 

Your spine went rigid with tension, back arching underneath him, before your orgasm released in a pulsating wave that sent you soaring up above the bathroom, above the Sanctuary, and exploded you out into the universe. The sheer force of the pleasure was terrifying, rattling your bones and making you feel as if you might black out. He relaxed his grip on your throat with a groan, jerking his hips sharply as he found his own release inside you. The black spots in your vision started to clear, as blessed oxygen filled your lungs, the same way that his hot cum was filling your cunt. His body twitched involuntarily and he gave a gasped, “fuck,” before stilling above you. 

Lifting his head, breathing still heavy and ragged, Negan scanned your face, as if looking for something. You weren’t sure what he saw, or what he found, but it made his lips tip up slightly on one side, in the smallest of smirks. 

Finally drawing his gloved fingers out of your mouth, you both watched as a thick string of saliva came with it, hanging in the air between his digits and your tongue, before breaking and splattering onto your chest. His fingers were soaked with drool, and he patted you on the cheek with them, before wiping the back of them across the bunched fabric of your t-shirt. Shame caused heat to flare in your cheeks, and it only intensified when he pulled his softening cock out of you, and you felt the warm trail of your combined cum trickle out of your pussy and down the crack of your ass. 

He looked down over your drool-smeared face and well-fucked body, eyes flaring when they reached the juncture of your thighs, which were still spread wide, as you reclined bonelessly on the sink. You couldn’t even find the energy to gasp when he trailed a finger up your sopping cunt, gathering a glob of fluids that he brought up to the light to inspect. 

You watched in awe as he brought the finger to his mouth, licking off the cum mixture with his tongue. He considered for a moment, before giving a hum of approval. He then shoved his cock back in his pants, zippered and buckled them, and ran a hair through his hair. And, just like that, he was once again presentable. Well, minus the sweat stain on the front of his shirt from his exertion and the glove that was sporting more wet spots than dry. Meanwhile, you still hadn’t moved from the sink, and looked as far away from presentable as was humanly possible. 

He seemed to enjoy that, because he gave your body one last look-over, as if committing each detail to memory, before throwing you an arrogant grin and wink, and turning towards the exit. With a soft click, the door shut behind him, and you were left alone in the cold, sterile bathroom. Finally sliding off the sink and onto shaky legs, there was nothing left to do but gather up the tatters of your panties and put back on the clothes that hadn’t been cut in half. 

Once dressed, you found that you didn’t want to leave, hand hesitating on the door knob. Walking outside this room meant that you had to step back into reality...meant acknowledging that this had really just happened. It also meant that you were going to have to cope with the fact that there was a whole new side of you that you hadn’t even been aware existed. 

A side that had loved every single second of what Negan had done to you in this room. 

A side that was already craving more.


End file.
